


Don't Wink

by WinterTheWriter



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dinosaurs, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's taking Rose to a Ball. An alien Ball. An alien, velociraptor Ball. It's alright, though. Everything will be fine, as long as they don't break one of the several death-sentence-if-broken customs the species' holds. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Wink

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for the lovely Danielle. Please message me if you're interested in commissioning me!

“You’re lying, you are.”

“Am not! Really!”

Rose Tyler raises an eyebrow, matching the Doctor’s disgruntled look with that tongue-in-teeth grin of hers. “Velociraptors…that throw Victorian-era Balls.” The Doctor rolls his eyes, but there’s already a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he buzzes around the TARDIS’ console again.

“Rose, every species evolves differently. Natural selection isn’t only existent on Earth, and /neither/ is nostalgia,” he explains, pausing for a moment to straighten his bowtie and smooth his hands down the lapels of his tux. It isn’t often he wears it (apparently it’s too tight – Rose fancies it’s just tight enough), but when he does, the view is certainly worth Victorian dinosaurs. “They were dropped on Amorna by accident, but they evolved and grew just the same.”

“Yeah,” Rose concedes, plopping down on the worn seat next to him, flattening out the poof of her dress as it bunches up. “But they’re still /velociraptors./”

“Don’t be racist,” the Doctor admonishes, waggling a finger at her. “They evolved. Don’t be fooled by the fact that they aren’t humanoid; they happen to be just as intelligent as you and I. …Well, you.”

 

“Hey!”

“You’re brilliant! You know you’re brilliant. But compared to /me/ you--,” He cuts himself off with an awkward clearing of his throat when he catches Rose’s scathing glare. “Anyways. It’ll be fun. There’re a few odd customs they hold, and if you break them you face a certain painful death, /but/ I don’t think there’s much cause for concern about that.” The Doctor grins and winks as he materializes the TARDIS, already bounding to the door by the time Rose stands up. 

“Oi! Don’t you think you should tell me what those customs /are/, just in case?” Rose asks, hands on her hips. She’s smiling, of course, but it’s very hard not to smile at the Doctor’s enthusiasm for everything new and different in the universe. He’s like a child in an infinite toy store and he’s always skated the line between inspiring and adorable, if such a line exists. The Doctor turns to her again, hand on the doorknob, not yet pushing.

“Weeeelll, here’s the funny thing: I don’t know them.” He almost sounds sheepish. Almost.

“/What./”

“The customs. I’ve never been here before. I’ve heard stories, but nothing…concrete.”

“…And you didn’t research because…?” The Doctor’s answering pout says “BORING!” louder than his voice can, and Rose sighs and rolls her eyes. “Right then. Two of us, who always get into trouble, crashing a party by a species that kills anyone who breaks their currently-unknown customs. What could possibly go wrong?”

The Doctor beams at her with a wink, eyes twinkling and his hand outstretched. She grabs it when she’s close enough and he squeezes gently as he opens the door. Rose takes a deep breath. “Allons-y!”

~

In the end, it takes them both less and more time to break one of the customs than Rose expected. At first, everything went smoothly. None of the dinosaurs batted an eye (/can/ they?) at their visitors, and the ones Rose and the Doctor interacted with seemed very nice. Granted, it took several nudges from the Doctor to get Rose to stop staring in shock every time one of the velociraptors spoke (they did so in English with a loud, growly accent), but no one noticed. 

So, for a good hour and a half, Rose and the Doctor drank champagne out of edible flutes (“Why edible?” “Imagine a velociraptor trying to sip out of a wine glass, Rose.” “/That would not be the strangest thing here./”) and danced to the classical music that Rose still can’t find the source of. There was mingling, and a little flirting, and maybe the Doctor’s hand wandered a bit too low on their fourth dance and fifth drink, and it was…nice. Very nice. 

Rose found herself forgetting about the deadly customs, and the alien-but-Victorian velociraptors, and everything else that wasn’t the Doctor’s hands in hers and on her hip. He grinned the whole time, through every dance, those big eyes locked on hers and their foreheads almost touching. During a particularly slow dance, Rose’s eyes drifted shut with the contentedness of it all and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the warm, dry press of the Doctor’s lips on her forehead. She’d opened her eyes to look at him questioningly and he simply shrugged a light blush on his cheeks.

It was perfect. The evening was perfect.

Rose was stupid for thinking it would last.

After their last dance, the Doctor and Rose sat next to each other at an open table, giggling and leaning against each other as they caught their breath. He signaled the butler for two more drinks, and she rested her head on his shoulder absently. “Are you having fun?” he asked her, his arm a warm weight across her shoulders. Rose nodded with a giggle, the alcohol making everything light and fuzzy. 

“Yes, yes I am. Never should’ve doubted you, Doctor.” 

“I /told/ you. Rose Tyler, how long have you been travelling with me? Have I ever given you /any/ cause to doubt my fun-o-meter?”

“Every Christmas e—,”

“/Besides that./” The Doctor pouted at her and Rose giggled again, pecking his cheek. 

“No. Not once,” she conceded, patting his hand on the table. In one smooth motion, he turned his hand around to clasp hers, his grin wide and pleased. Rose hid her answering blush by looking around the   
ballroom, her own grin still very much in place. 

There were a few velociraptors scattered around the edge of the dancefloor, mingling and schmoozing in low, growly tones as they eat their flutes. Rose observed them with a tilted head. The similarities between this ball and a human one were astounding – she could almost forget the whole “alien dinosaur” thing if that was all she focused on. One velociraptor suddenly looked her way and seemed to smile, one of their “eyebrows” rising. On cheeky impulse, Rose winked at them, giggling quietly.

It’s only five minutes later that the Doctor and Rose found themselves being dragged into a cell, alarms blaring and velociraptors dashing about, snarling in anger. 

Apparently, winking is one of those “deadly customs.” Who knew?

~

“/Who knew?/ WHO KNEW?” Rose yells, hands on hips as she glares at an appropriately sheepish Doctor. 

“Rose, honestly, there’s no need to yell,” he says, hands raised in surrender. He’s currently sitting on their one small bed pressed up against the side of the cell, back to the wall. 

“We are trapped in a cell on this…this /Victorian Jurassic Park/, awaiting execution, because you were too lazy to research their customs, and there’s NO NEED TO YELL?? I THINK THERE’S PLENTY NEED TO YELL, TA.” 

“…I understand that, maybe, this was, perhaps, a lapse of judgement, possibly…”

“You little --,”

“But we can get out! We can. Honestly, Rose, we’ve escaped far worse than Victorian Jurassic Parks. They didn’t even take my sonic. Daft creatures, really,” the Doctor tuts. Rose sighs and walks to the cell door,   
peering at the lock with narrowed eyes. 

“Sonic won’t work on that, don’t think. It’s deadlocked.” 

The Doctor leaps off the bed immediately, brainy specs appearing on his face seemingly out of thin air as he inspects the lock. And curses. “Well, never you mind your pretty blonde head about it. Maybe it’s not a real deadlock. Worth a shot, anyhow.” He leaps Rose’s blush at the compliment with a broad grin and a wink, and Rose mumbles something about irony as she plops down onto the bed. It’s cushier than she’d imagined it would be, and she fancies she won’t much mind spending a night on it. /And possibly on the Doctor/, she thinks, watching him poke at the lock with a small grin.

The alcohol had all but left during the drama, leaving her thirsty but no less feeling like a giggly school-girl in the Doctor’s presence. Maybe he’s just intoxicating. Time Lord Brand liquor consumed by presence. Alright, perhaps not /all/ the alcohol fizzled out. Still, the point is that they’ve been locked in far worse cells, and she’s lost count of how many times they’ve been sentenced to death on one planet or another.   
This’ll be cake. 

Satisfied with her mental pep-talk, she fluffs the single pillow under her head and finally relaxes, watching the Doctor work (or pretend to) with slowly drooping eyes until she finally falls asleep.

~

She’s woken up, of course, only about twenty minutes later by the sound of the Doctor’s frantic shouts and loud, whooping alarms. Jolting straight up and out of bed, she blinks her eyes open properly to take in the strobing red lights and the two heavily armed velociraptors opening their cell door. Rose curses and runs to the Doctor’s side, their hands grabbing each other’s almost magnetically as they’re cornered. The guards bark (growl?) orders at each other, rounding up the two and roughly pushing them out of the cell, guns pointed at them the entire time.

It’s only later, in their new, triple-locked cell that the Doctor shyly tells her the lock was indeed deadlocked, and they’ve taken the sonic, and by the way, the use of sonic devices is also against customs.

Rose would’ve killed him if he didn’t look so adorable.

~

The next hour is spent planning. There’s no bed in this cell, as it resembles a padded room in a mental institution, so the Doctor and Rose sit cross-legged in front of each other with their foreheads pressed together (the Doctor insists it’s necessary, Rose doesn’t mind nearly enough to complain). They’re holding hands, too. Also for necessary reasons. 

“Right, so, no sonic,” Rose starts.

“Nope.”

“Or TARDIS.”

“No.”

“Or weaponry of any sort.”

“/Never./”

“…We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

The Doctor scoffs and shakes his head, his fringe scratching Rose’s forehead pleasantly. “I have a plan, Rose. I /always/ have a plan.”

“Yeah, so…what’s the plan?”

Silence.

“I /always/ think of a plan, eventually.”

“Brilliant.”

He looks pleased for a moment before it registers that she was being sarcastic, his lips pulling down into a pout. The two of them are quiet for a moment before the Doctor suddenly shouts, “OH!” and jumps to his feet, nearly head-butting Rose in the process. He pulls her up before pacing around the cell, mumbling to himself excitedly in what sounds like Gallifreyan before he turns to her, beaming wide and eyes sparkling. “/Rose./”

“What?” She asks, already beaming back at him as she crosses her arms.

“I have a plan!”

Rose waits for him to elaborate with raised eyebrows, and he bounds forward to kiss her forehead (second time tonight, she notes) before he does just that.  
“The guards! Do you remember what they were saying before they changed our cells?” he asks, his voice rushed and loud in that adorable way it gets when he’s “on a roll.” She’s barely shaken her head in the negative before he continues. “They were loud and growly, yeah? Those weren’t /orders/, they were /flirts!/”

Rose blinks, her smile faltering. She can sense this is just her human brain being unable to keep up with his, but it’s still rather tiring. “So…they were…flirting with us?”

“No, that would be ridiculous,” he dismisses, waving his hand at the thought. She scoffs, but she knows there was no real bite behind his words. “They were flirting with /each other./ Think about it, Rose! Alien and odd they may be, but they’re still dinosaurs! Their native language /is/ loud and growly. Those two lovely ladies are /married/, and better than that, they’re newlyweds!” The Doctor’s almost squealing at this point and Rose can’t keep the amused laughter out of her voice.

“Right, so are we gonna get them a belated wedding present so they’ll let us out? How can you even tell all this?” 

“I just have my ways. I’m very observant, and there was a problem I had with actual dinosaurs a while back…Listen! Newlyweds are literally still in the honeymoon phase. They’re flirty and gushy and /protective./ Very, very protective of each other. And they hate us. Most of all, they hate /me/, because this is a matriarchal society, /just like dinosaurs./”

“Dinosaurs are a ma--,”

“I’ll answer all your dinosaur related questions once we’re safe and sound in the TARDIS, yeah?” He grins, trotting over to her and jokingly ruffling her hair. Rose yelps and laughs, batting at his hand.

“Yeah, but you still haven’t told us how we’re gonna get out of here.”

The Doctor leans in close, like he’s about to impart a great secret. 

“Rose Tyler, we’re going to /wink./” 

~

“Helloooo,” the Doctor croons, face all but pressed against the tiny window in the door of their cell. One of the guards huffs but otherwise ignores him. “Oh come on, love, give us a smile.” Rose slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter – the Doctor was quoting the ex of hers he hates almost verbatim. And quite spot on, actually, even if the words sound weird and wrong coming from his all-too-polite lips. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? Won’t you let me look at you, pretty girl?” The Doctor quickly looks back at Rose and gags at his own words before facing the window again. 

The guard growls and turns to glare at the Doctor, her wife approaching at the sound from behind her. “What retched words do you want to spit, prisoner?” the guard asks. Privately holding out his hand to the side for Rose to take, the Doctor plasters on a lecherous grin.

“No retched words here, darling. Just some harmless flirting. Your wife won’t mind, will she?” The Doctor winks, big and slow, and in the next instant the door is almost ripped off its hinges by the guard’s very angry, very protective, very armed wife.

In the instant after that, Rose and the Doctor are running. 

~

They /barely/ make it back to the TARDIS. The run through the maze-like prison had been a nightmare in and of itself, especially with the Doctor’s insistence that they find his sonic before they leave. It was being kept in a small, closet of a room that was full of gadgets and gizmos that, evidently, were also against their stupid “customs,” and Rose practically had to drag the Doctor out by the ear before he could explore after he grabbed the sonic. The guards had backup by the time they were nearing the exit, and judging by the deafening cacophony of blasts and footsteps and snarls, quite more backup than Rose and the Doctor could face. 

A blast grazed Rose’s leg and she cried out at the red-hot pain, but the Doctor simply scooped her up with a surprising show of strength and ran on. She noticed, through the pain, that from that point on, all the mirth and excitement the Doctor usually has during these chases had vanished completely. The thought alone made the pain more bearable. 

As he ran through the now-deserted ballroom and out the other side (who knew they were attached?), the Doctor ordered Rose to reach into his lapel’s inner pocket to pull out the TARDIS’ keys through his labored breathing. She’d done it almost before he’d even finished the sentence and he grinned briefly at her in response. Hell if a little immobility will stop me from helping the Doctor, Rose thought. 

When the TARDIS was finally, /finally/ in sight, Rose couldn’t help but laugh in relief, even as the action made her wound flare up. In twenty seconds, the Doctor had Rose inside, on the jump-seat, and the TARDIS sent into the vortex with the outside sound of blasters fading into nothingness. 

And now, silence.

The Doctor looks at Rose. Rose looks at the Doctor. The Doctor grins. Rose grins back. And then suddenly, it’s hilarious. Suddenly, the pain in Rose’s leg means nothing, because that was /ridiculous/ and brilliant and hilarious and wonderful, and they /survived/, which is the very best part of all. As one, the two burst into raucous, near-hysteric laughter, Rose clutching her ribs and the Doctor sagging to the floor and doubling over with the force of it. It takes them ten minutes just to calm down enough to wipe the mirthful tears from their faces, and another five for them to regain the ability to speak.

“You know what…what the best p-part of that was?” The Doctor giggles, his face bright red as he looks at her. Rose giggles right back and shakes her head. “We were only in that prison for /two hours!/” He cackles again, almost bashing the back of his head on the TARDIS’ console in the process.

“/Really?!/” Rose squeals, covering her mouth with her hand. “All that, and only /two sodding hours?/” The Doctor nods through his laughs and Rose joins in again, shaking her head at how ludicrous their lives were. “I think that’s a new record, honestly.”

“I should write it down. Make note of it. On today’s date of….er….” He blinks, looking at her for help. She shrugs, still grinning. Just then, her injury decides to remind them both of its presence, and Rose hisses in pain as she grips her leg. “Right!” The Doctor starts, hopping back up to his feet and scooping her back into his arms. Rose yelps and grips onto him tightly. “Med-bay for you, Miss Oh-So-Fragile Human.”

“Oi! This fragile human was running faster than you before she got shot, /even/ though she’s in this ridiculous poofy dress,” Rose pouts, sticking her tongue out at him as he walks. His eyes seem to linger on her mouth for a moment before he scoffs, kicking the door to the med-bay open.

“When this leg is well again, Rose Tyler, we’re having a race and you are /eating/ those words.”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” she sing-songs, the left-over adrenaline in her system making her feel giddier than she probably ought to. The Doctor chuckles and lays her down onto the medical bed,   
pushing up the various skirts and fabrics of her dress to get to her injury. Rose is grateful that the poof hides her blush from him. 

“Good news is that it probably feels a lot worse than it is. Very superficial, you don’t even need stitches. Just some numbing cream and a bandage and you’re all set!”

“And the bad news?”

The Doctor’s head pops up from between her legs and she bites her lip as that same excess adrenaline makes the sight a lot less innocent-looking. “There isn’t always bad news, you know,” he scolds, seemingly oblivious to her thoughts. Just as well, too, because that’s a lecture from him she /really/ doesn’t want to sit through.

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” She grins, and the Doctor grins back before gathering supplies. He stops in front of the counter and turns to her, looking a bit nervous. 

“Er, for the sake of ease and comfort, do you think you could…remove the dress?” He clears his throat awkwardly after talking, pulling on his earlobe. It takes a moment for the words to register and when they do,   
Rose is /exceedingly/ happy that she didn’t opt out of wearing a slip under the dress. 

“Yeah,” she mumbles, toying with her hair. “You’ll have to, um…undo my straps, though. In the back. Can’t really reach myself.” 

The Doctor mumbles something unintelligible and moves behind the bed, helping her sit up. His hands are warm as they undo her straps, and every time they graze her skin, Rose has to stop herself from shuddering or inhaling too sharply. There’s no way he’s missed the goosebumps that rise on her skin, though, and she can only hope that he blames it on the chill of the room. Soon enough, Rose is out of her dress and the Doctor is draping it over a chair, and Rose is sitting up in the short, light-pink slip the TARDIS so generously left out for her. 

His eyes seem to bug out a bit at the sight of her and Rose feels smug, thinks briefly that maybe her desires aren’t unrequited, but then the moment’s over and he’s rubbing a cool cream onto her leg before covering it with a bandage. “There we are, right as rain!” The Doctor exclaims, his enthusiasm seeming a bit…tenser than usual. As Rose stares at him, she notices that his cheeks are pink and his pupils are dilated. And, if she narrows her eyes (she does), his pulse is hammering a bit too fast under the delicate skin of his neck.

The Doctor is aroused.

Rose takes a calming breath. Better late than never, right? “You’re probably famished,” the Doctor babbles. “And dehydrated. All that running on an empty stomach probably made you hurt far more than you needed. But first, you should sleep. You’ve had a very busy day and your eyes are hooded, and you even fell asleep in the cell, an--,” Rose cuts off his monologue by leaning forward and pressing their lips together. It’s a chaste kiss, but it’s full of intent and purpose, and when Rose leans back, the Doctor’s staring at her with wide, dark eyes and lightly parted lips.

“Actually, Doctor,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Sleep is the very last thing I want right now.”  
~

Rose barely registers the thump of her back against her bedroom wall, too focused on the hard press of the Doctor’s body and the low growls in his throat as he devours her mouth. Her hands tug at his hair and he groans, the sound shooting straight to her core, their hips grinding against each other. He’s hard and hot against her inner thigh and she pulls away just to gasp out, “Bed,” before his mouth takes hers once more.

Their clothes are shed without finesse or care, strewn about the room and forgotten, and soon enough the Doctor hovers over her on her bed as he sucks and kisses the tender skin of her neck and kneads her breast. She whimpers and arches up, eyes squeezed shut tightly as she runs her hands down the warm expanse of his back. He smiles against her neck and rolls her nipple between two fingers, chuckling hotly when Rose moans loudly in response. 

Heat and desire throb between her legs to the point where she doesn’t even /want/ foreplay, want any teasing or exploration. No, there’s plenty of time for that. There’s all the time in the universe for them to take each other apart in every way they can imagine. Now, however, all Rose wants is the Doctor’s cock inside of her, and that’s exactly what she tells him.

His eyes are dark and glazed over as he stares down at her in shock, soft puffs of air ghosting over her lips from his labored breathing. “Are you certain?” he asks, his voice gravelly and so laced with want that Rose whines and grinds upwards.

“I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life,” she replies airily. Rose is fully aware of how wanton she must look but right now she couldn’t care less. He growls and takes his cock in hand, rubbing it between her lower lips and around her clit before it bumps against her entrance. She moans and grabs onto his waist, legs spreading wider for him. With a filthy smirk and a wink, he pushes inside to the hilt, and together they moan at the perfect feeling of finally, /finally/ being one. 

At first, his thrusts are slow and measured. They draw her pleasure out like drawing back an arrow, every movement bringing her closer to the release. But it isn’t enough. The Doctor seems to tell, and by the way his muscles quiver under Rose’s exploring hands, he agrees wholeheartedly. Gradually, his thrusts pick up speed and strength until he’s rutting into her with all he has, their moans and gasps and grunts drowning out the wet, obscene sounds of their joining. The pleasure is so intense Rose is babbling, begging and pleading in words that probably don’t make sense for more, more, /more./ She’s praising him, praising every god she doesn’t believe in, chanting his name like a mantra as his thrusts start to lose rhythm.

Soon enough the pleasure begins to knot in her stomach, making her rake her nails down the Doctor’s back, and he’s grunting out her name amidst his short, low moans, his thrusts frantic and needy and /so good/, god, /so good./ With a shaky hand, he reaches between them and circles his thumb around her clit, and just that is enough. She cries out his name and arches beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist and hands in his hair as she clenches around his cock, the waves of pleasure almost to the point of pain. Stars and galaxies and nebulas dance behind her closed eyelids, and through it all she hears a ragged, answering call of her own name before warmth splashes within her.

When she can actually, properly think and process reality again, the Doctor is lying on top of her and pressing soft, unhurried kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, his hands skating along her curves and planes. They’re still joined, and Rose lets out a happy sigh at the feeling as she combs her fingers through the Doctor’s hair and down his neck. He kisses back up to her lips and they snog languidly for a few moments, lips pushing and pulling in a wet, warm waltz as if they’d been doing so for years. 

The Doctor pulls back just enough to see her face and she grins at him.

He does not grin back.

In fact, if anything, he…frowns. He looks upset and uncomfortable, and something painful twists her gut. “Doctor?” She asks, voice a bit hoarse. Slowly, he pulls out of her and rolls away, sitting up.  
“You need water,” he murmurs, getting to his feet. “Stay. I’ll be back.” Rose wants more than anything to stop him, drag him back into bed and remind him how very /not/ upsetting any of this was, but she’s struck mute and dumb with hurt so she only nods. She supposes, as she waits, that she should’ve expected this. The Doctor is a great, magnificent, powerful man, almost God-like with ability and life-span. Why would he want her? This whole thing was probably an adrenaline-fueled mistake to him – something he would’ve done with anyone – and he probably expects Rose to kick up a huge fuss.

Maybe he wants her to go home.

Tears sting her eyes at the thought and she sits up, self-consciously covering her body with the duvet. No. She won’t make this difficult for him. She propositioned him, and she has to deal with the consequences. When the Doctor walks back with her water, she thanks him quietly and sips it, the cool liquid feeling like heaven as it sloshes down her parched throat. The Doctor sits next to her again, hands covering his lap, his eyes on a loose thread in the duvet rather than her. “We shouldn’t have done this,” he starts. Rose instantly wants to run, but forces herself to stay put. “I had /plans/, Rose. So many plans for this. I was going to treat you like a queen, not…not take you like a mindless beast as soon as I’m given the chance.”

Wait.

She stares at him wide-eyed, hope flaring up as he talks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. You must think that chav act in the cell was the real me after all. Oh blimey, I was going to make you /so happy/.” The Doctor’s voice cracks on the last word and instantly she puts down her glass and climbs into his lap, hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her eyes.

“/Doctor,/” she breathes, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “You really have no idea how happy I am right now, do you?” His deer-in-headlights look is enough confirmation. “I don’t need a special, planned out first time with you. I don’t need candles or flowers or a royal treatment. I just need /you/. The real you, without plans, without acts. And that’s exactly what you gave me.” His mouth opens for a moment before closing, but she can see some of the worry leave his face. “Honestly, I thought /I/ was the one who failed to please you. I’m just a human, Doctor. A human-human, with no special powers or abilities.”

“You’ve never seen yourself clearly,” the Doctor murmurs, leaning into her touch as he wraps his arms around her. “You have the most special ability of all, Rose Tyler. You /love/. You love with all that you are and without condition, for the universe and life and all that encompasses. And with that love, my Rose, you save the world. With that love, you bring joy and happiness to all who meet you. With that love, you give me the ability to love in return.” There are tears shining in her eyes when he’s finished and she sniffles lightly before replying.

“I love you, Doctor. More than the universe. More than life. I don’t mind not spending eternity with you if it means I can at least have the rest of my life by your side.” 

“You will. You will. You and me, Rose, together, not for forever, but with enough love that forever isn’t necessary. There are different kinds of forevers, Rose Tyler, and I’m going to spend every one I can with you.”   
He hugs her close and she buries her face into his neck, smiling through her tears as warmth blooms in her chest. 

She pulls back after a moment and he kisses away her tear tracks. “I think we’ve just had a forever, Doctor.”

“Mmm? How so?”

“People wait forever to hear words like that or to find someone they can say it too. And we’ve just gone and done it after a shag.” 

The Doctor chuckles, nodding in agreement. “I suppose that’s true. What forever shall we have next?”

Rose thinks for a moment, toying with the hair on the back of the Doctor’s neck. “Mmm. Let’s not spoil the mystery, yeah?” 

“All the time in the universe to find more.”

“All the time in the universe to /make/ more.”

“Ah, Rose, look at you. Brilliant as always.” 

Rose laughs, full of joy and love and the lifted weight of not needing forever after all, and winks.


End file.
